


I Love You No Matter Where You Spend the Night

by indevan



Series: Yellow Lighter [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t a bad thing to be.  He can be their comfort, their strength.  He can be the “normal” friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You No Matter Where You Spend the Night

There are very few times that Nebuya is driven to violence.  On the court, it’s one thing.  It’s brute strength and stamina that keeps his opponents from advancing.  But that’s different.  That’s not violence.  He doesn’t do any of that underhanded shit Hanamiya does--and who allowed him in their King club?--and using your strength on the court is just the way he’s done it since Kiyoshi furrowed those big eyebrows at him and changed his life.  But there are times where he truly wants to put the hurt on someone.

Now is one of those times.

He never wants to go to Mibuchi’s house with him again.  If he had his way, he’d pack up all of his belongings, take him to his house or even convince him to room at the school.  He’d never hurt Mibuchi’s mom, though, no matter what she did to him.  She is a product, after all, of his father.  He hates his father and he’s back.  His most recent girlfriend dumped him so he’s back at home playing husband and father.  When he came in...shit, what he called Nebuya, he practically saw red.  Then he started laying into Mibuchi.

“You should cut your hair.  Sit up straight.  Honestly, Reo, I’m gone for a few weeks and you let yourself get like this.”

He sees his boyfriend shrink a little and he hates it.  Mibuchi is, truly, one of the strongest people he knows--and he would know!  He has dealt with so much garbage at home and from his old team.  Even some people on Rakuzan giggle about him behind his back.

“We should go,” he says rather than do what he wants, which is punch Mibuchi’s father in the face.

“Go where?” his father asks.

His mother reaches out, tenderly takes his hand.  Nebuya bites the inside of his cheek because that gentle touch can turn into an insistent tug and then a clamp that could rival a damn vice claw.

“Reo, please.  Let’s be together again.”

Mibuchi’s eyes widen just enough and he bites his lip.  Nebuya sees him start to crumple and he wants to gather him up in his arms and take him from this house, from his family.  But, ultimately, it’s his decision and if Mibuchi wants to stay he’ll have to let him.  He’ll stay up worrying about him but he’ll let him.

“Sorry.” He withdraws his hand. “Ei-chan and I have to go.”

Mibuchi puts his hand in his and squeezes.  He squeezes back and feels a knot of anxiety unravel in his chest.  His father is staring at their joined hands.

“What is this?” he asks and makes a gesture between them.

Nebuya turns and sees the color drain from Mibuchi’s face.  His father doesn’t know about them, doesn’t know about him.

“It’s us leaving,” Nebuya says.  Loathe as he is to do it, he bows. “Thank you for having me.”

Taking Mibuchi with him, he exits the house.  Outside, Mibuchi leans into him, pressing their shoulders together.

“You alright?” he asks.

He closes his eyes and nods.

“Thanks.”

Nebuya drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“Of course.”

He leans into him further, wrapping long, deceptively slender arms around Nebuya’s waist.  He still isn’t sure what he did to get Mibuchi to notice him, to date him, but whatever the reason is, he’s glad.

\--

It’s always breezy on the roof but it gives them a view of the city in front of them.  Hayama is smoking and Nebuya is trying to stay upwind.  He hates the smell of cigarettes.  In the hand not clutching the cigarette, he has his phone to text Izuki in Tokyo.  Hayama glances up at him and flicks his ash onto the roof.

“Ei-chan, you work out in the off season, right?” he asks.  His eyes have a feline glow and wisps of smoke float around him.

“Yeah.”

Instinctively, Nebuya flexes his bicep and smiles down at himself.  He can see the definition of it through his uniform blazer.

“Think you can help me?”

“Help you what?”

He takes a long drag, holds it, and releases smoke in a sigh.

“Work out.  I think I’m gaining weight.”

He places is hand over his abdomen, the lit tip of his cigarette dangerously close to his jacket.  Hayama is always bright energy and tight, coiled muscles that Nebuya didn’t even think he could gain weight.

“Shun’s a good chef,” he continues, “and he sends me care packages.”

Nebuya nods, agrees.  It gets lonely in the weight room sometimes.  Mibuchi prefers doing stretches and cardio to actual weight training.  Sure, he enjoys it in the bedroom--his long and lithe body twisting around him--but he wouldn’t mind having Mibuchi work out with him.  His mind wanders to his boyfriend, then, stretching in front of the mirror.  His legs spread and his chest flat on the ground.  His leg high, so high he can almost loop it behind his head.

“Ei-chan!”

He snaps back to reality and shakes his head.

“Yeah.  Is after school fine?”

Hayama nods and grins, his pointed canine pushing down over his lower lip.  The door to the roof opens and they both turn.  Hayama drops his cigarette, eyes wide.  Nebuya stares.  Mibuchi stares back.

“Babe,” he whispers.

Mibuchi tugs at his hair, biting his lip. “What?”

His hair, his glossy and beautiful hair, is cut short.  The longest bits only skim the top of his high cheekbones.  Immediately, he feels anger boil in his chest.  Mibuchi loves having long hair.  He loves having him run his fingers through it.  Loves having it stroked while Nebuya whispers his favorite pet name in his ear: babydoll, angelface, princess.  This is his father.

“I wanted a change,” he says and his voice falters so much, Nebuya knows he doesn’t believe himself. “Now come off it--come on.  The bell’s going to ring.  Kota-chan, put that out.”

He speaks rapidly and without making eye contact.  When Nebuya reaches for his hand, he pulls away and looks down, ashamed.

“Come on,” he says quietly.

\--

The weight room is humid and smells like sweat but Nebuya loves it.  He loves the slick coolness of the bar against his palms.  The resistance of the weights and the burn in his muscles.  Today, though, he stares longingly at the bench press and instead turns back to the mats.  Hayama is on his back, gasping for air.  He can last on a basketball court or skating on the streets where he’s not allowed.  But actual exercise seems to be winding him.  Smoking can’t help.

“Shit,” he says, breathless.

Hayama sits up and leans back on one arm and puts his free hand on his stomach.  Since he’s brought it up, Nebuya sees that it’s noticeably convex.

“Why are you so concerned?”

He sighs and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Shun is really hot and now that I’ve relieved him of the burden that is his virginity, he’s probably gonna run off with someone hot enough to match.”

It’s rare to see Hayama be so self-defeating.  His confidence usually booms as loud as his dribbles.

“I live far and, I dunno.  I’m nervous.” His snaggle tooth worries over his chapped lips. “I’m jealous of you.”

“Me?”

“You and Reo-nee know what’s up.  It’s solid.”

“I guess.”

Nebuya looks away and at the long mirror that spans the length of the room.  In it, he sees Mibuchi on the roof.  The darkened look in his eyes as he tugged awkwardly on his newly shortened hair.  He knows he needs to talk to him about it but he doesn’t want another fight.  He knows Mibuchi doesn’t want to admit abuse but it’s.  He sighs.  It’s beyond his realm of thinking, he thinks.  He doesn’t deal with the esoteric or emotional.  He lives in the physical.  The burn of lactic acid in his muscles.  The feel of Mibuchi pressing against him.  The nubby exterior of a basketball in his palm when he jumps up for the tip-off.

“The hair?” Hayama asks.

He leaps to his feet and stares at himself in the mirror.  Rucks his shirt up to his chest and presses a hand on the slight slope of his belly.

“Hmph,” he grumbles.

“It’s his dad, not him,” Nebuya says, looking up at him from where he’s still seated.

Hayama drops his shirt and shrugs.  Nebuya curls a lip at his utter lack of help.

\--

Mibuchi isn’t speaking when they walk home together.  Nebuya’s house is walking distance from school and he knows that his boyfriend relishes not having to take the train.

“We have a practice game,” he says, prolonging the inevitable.  His eyelids flutter and his full lips are downturned. “Against Kyoto Fushimi.”

“Aren’t we in the off-season?” Two can play this game.

“Yeah but Sei-chan wants us to stay on our toes so he’s arranging little games before preliminaries start back up.”

“I’ve never heard of this team.”

“They’re not very good.” Mibuchi shrugs. “I think he wants to up our confidence after the Winter Cup.”

The sun is slanting down on them, casting everything in a soft, orange-yellow glow.  Nebuya takes a breath and slips his arms around Mibuchi’s waist.

“This isn’t you,” he says and touches the shorn tips of his hair.

“What is me?”

Words, emotions.  He can kiss him, he can hold him, but he needs words.

“You’re kind,” he says. “You care about others.  You do tarot readings for us and make sure we’re eating right.  You hide Kota-chan’s cigarettes.  You...you…”

Mibuchi closes his eyes and says, “That’s me to other people.  I don’t know who I am.  I’m not who my parents want.”

He feels it surging in his chest and tries to push it down.

“Your parents are assholes!”

Mibuchi shrinks away from him, his eyes alight.

“Don’t talk about them that way.”

“You love having long hair,” he continues, unable to stop. “Your dad comes home, talks about you, and you chop it off.  And your mom is fucked by him, too.  And she hurts you, babydoll, all the time.  And...and…”

“Stop it!”

Mibuchi is mad now.  His immaculately beautiful face is clouded over in anger.

“You know it’s true!  Last night--”

“Shut up!” His voice is loud and echoes off of the buildings around them.  The streets are empty save for them like everyone heard their argument and chose to hide away. “You don’t understand!”

Nebuya closes his mouth.  He knows to stop his words.

“Your family is perfect!  Your mom, your dad--even your brothers.  They all care about each other.  They love each other!  You can’t understand what it’s like!  How I feel.”

Tears are leaking from his eyes.  Nebuya steps closer and holds his arms out, prompting permission.  Mibuchi nods and he envelops him in his arms.  He feels almost delicate against him, not like usual.  Usually, despite their difference in size, he never worries about breaking him.  Now he feels fragile, like glass or some kind of wounded bird.

“So help me,” he murmurs into his hair.

\--

Life isn’t perfect.  He isn’t good at emoting, at making words make sense.  Him holding Mibuchi in bed won’t make his home life better or make him lose his connection to his parents.  But he can buy him glitter barrettes to put in his hair as it grows out.  He can do these little things.

“So I feel like an idiot.”

Hayama ashes on the ground and presses his back against the door leading to the roof.  Mibuchi’s lip curves up as if he wants to make a comment but he’s pressed up against Nebuya’s chest, comfortable as a cat.

“How come?”

“Shun doesn’t care.  He likes me as is.” He grinds his cigarette on the pavement and flicks the butt away.

“Mm, good.” Mibuchi pushes one bangs from his eyes.

He’s coming home with him again tonight.  He’s really coming home indefinitely.  When Nebuya told his mother, she put her hand on her chest and exhaled.  He is lucky, he thinks, having a family like his.  He can get why Mibuchi said he doesn’t get his quandary.  And that he can’t fix it.  He can’t fix it but he can help.  He can be there for him in the ways that he can.

“Although he said that he wants to come and get a closer look,” he says with a dangerous smile.

“You’ve turned him into a sex fiend,” Nebuya says.

“Only for me.” The grin widens.

Mibuchi sighs and relaxes against him, too content to even scold Hayama.  For that, Nebuya’s glad.  He hates it when they fight, especially when it’s over the same thing again and again.  His head is on his shoulder, his hair spilling forward, only minimally held back by a rabbit-shaped barrette.  He’s growing it back out.  Reclaiming himself how he wants, not informed by his dad.

Sometimes Nebuya doesn’t feel like a full person.  He’s Mibuchi’s boyfriend, Akashi’s teammate and Hayama’s friend.  He’s the youngest son, the youngest brother.  He’s the Herculean Strength of the Uncrowned Kings--the only one without a true special ability (if you call making people injure others an ability).  And yet.  He is solving other people’s problems because he doesn’t have too many.  Refreshingly normal, as his friends would say.

Still, it isn’t a bad thing to be.  He can be their comfort, their strength.  He can be the “normal” friend.  He strokes the strands of Mibuchi’s hair and smacks a fresh cigarette out of Hayama’s hands.  No, it’s fine.


End file.
